


The Coat Thief: Part 2

by Im_not_gay_well_I_am



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_not_gay_well_I_am/pseuds/Im_not_gay_well_I_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part two. In which John has nightmares and Sherlock doesn't know what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coat Thief: Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: http://archiveofourown.org/works/854779
> 
> Thanks for reading :3 <3

[6 months later]  
John woke with a start, out of breath. The dreams were getting worse, well changing. At first it was okay sleeping with Sherlock’s coat to remind him the detective was back but over time John’s acceptance of Sherlock being alive didn’t help to stop the nightmares. Only create new ones. He lay in bed listening and he heard Sherlock moving about quietly in the kitchen. He tried to go back to sleep but all the scenarios kept playing back. He only used to dream of the fall, seeing Sherlock jump from the building. It had haunted him before Sherlock came back and both John and his psychiatrist believed the dreams would stop once he had returned, they didn’t though and now his mind created new scenes to torment him. Sherlock getting killed on a case, shot, stabbed, hit by a car, there was even one when he got mauled by a wild animal. Probably his brain bringing back the hound from Grimpen mire. It always came back to that didn’t it: fear. He feared losing Sherlock for a second time. John eventually drifted back into a fitful state of hypnagogia, not awake but not fully asleep.

***

Sherlock was getting worried about John and his lack of sleep; it was definitely taking its toll. He mentioned about getting his psychiatrist back to help, maybe she could prescribe something to help? But John just snapped back that she couldn’t help before, so how would she be able to help now? 

***

A week later John woke again, but after listening for more than five minutes he still couldn’t hear anything. This time Sherlock had gone out, whilst John was asleep, to check on something about the case he didn’t know what but Sherlock had ended up getting mugged and stabbed to death. John knew he was being ridiculous. First he still had Sherlock’s coat next to him and Sherlock never went out without his coat and even if he had he wouldn’t have been mugged or killed. Yet John had began to panic, he knew he had to check. So he fell out of his bed, quietly walked to Sherlock’s room and paused outside his door. John held his breath and leant against the door. There was no sound; he slowly pushed the door open. Empty. John could hardly breathe; he ran down to the living room and flung himself into the room catching the door frame to steady himself. He was nearly in hysterics. There he was though, he was asleep on the sofa with some article having fallen open on his chest. John was panting and he tried hard to calm himself however he’d already woken the detective up.  
“John! John, what on earth’s the matter” A look of deep concern clouded the man’s face.  
“Ah, ah, ah." John panted "It’s...nothing. Just a bad...dream.” John still couldn’t catch his breath and stumbled into the room. Sherlock was already there catching his shoulders so he didn’t fall.  
“Do you want to tell me about it?”  
“It was you...you left the house...got murdered. Stupid, I know, but I had to check.”  
“Oh John” He looked into the doctor’s eyes, “John, I promise you. I promise, I will never leave this house without telling you. Okay?"  
“Yes, yeah. Thank you Sherlock” He collapsed into Sherlock and Sherlock embraced him, they stood for a moment Sherlock just holding John.

***

“C’mon John it’s still early you should try and get some sleep” He walked him back to his room and as John climbed into his bed Sherlock whispered. I’m sorry John, I’m so sorry. Of course he knew it was his faked death that started these dreams; the idea of him dying that affected John so much. John didn’t want him to slip away again. Sherlock wished there was something more he could do.

***

It was a while before John let another dream scare him as much as that one. This one was particularly vivid though. A stranger had broken into the house, ambushed Sherlock before dragging him out. After that John only remembered that the dream ended in Sherlock’s death. Before he knew it he was out of bed and in the living room. Sherlock was sitting in an armchair reading. John collapsed onto the floor.  
“John! Not again, I promised didn’t I? That I wouldn’t leave.”  
“You...didn’t. Attacked. Kidnapped.”  
“John” The man’s voice broke, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How to make them stop.” John chuckled quietly.  
“Me neither Sherlock, me neither. They lessen but they never stop. Even after all these years I still have dreams about my friends in the army. I remember I used to wake up forgetting they were dead. I don’t know why it’s the opposite with you, I honestly thought they would stop once I knew you were alive” Sherlock came over to John helped him up and said,  
“You need to try and sleep John, for me. Please?”  
“Okay” John started towards his room but Sherlock grabbed his wrist and steered him towards his own. John climbed into the detective’s bed and Sherlock sat down in his armchair watching John.  
John soon fell asleep. When he next woke up his breathing erratic, he looked over at the chair and Sherlock was gone. Suddenly he realised there was a quiet, even breathing in the dark. Right next to him. It was Sherlock, he’d fallen asleep next to John. John let his breathing slow and curled against Sherlock, resting his hand gently over the man’s long fingers. He watched Sherlock’s chest rise and fall, the steady beat sending John into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in years. With no dreams whatsoever.


End file.
